


And if you're still bleeding

by sleeplessflower



Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi, also awkward david, also sex/touch repulsed syd, basically david has a crush? on clark, but hes awkward, hhhh hc that clark and his boo broke up bc, idk i jsut wanted to write something, its literally just exposition, the ffuckin. arm y boy thing ugh, uh this is a weird one folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 06:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessflower/pseuds/sleeplessflower
Summary: Every time he and David interact, there’s an energy there, solely created by David. Something buzzing and nervous. Some sort of one-sided gravitation, something that pulls David in Clark’s direction. Something he doesn’t appreciate.





	And if you're still bleeding

**Author's Note:**

> i love syd and i think. lesbiab. also. touch repulsed. thats what i want to clarify. she talks constantly abt how she has this horrible feeling when ppl touch her which i can understand i hate being touched but then.... lets david kiss her? eugh
> 
> also i like the idea that david is like clark cute? bc mood but clark is like uhhh no thanks you are. terrifying . also please give clark a bf that loves him when he was talking to syd no joke i cried like. hes so at peace w his sexuality but he lives in the fuckin 70s ahakjsashhk pleaze
> 
> work is un-beta'd

Despite his best efforts to humanise him, Clark Debussy was still scared of David Haller. A small part of himself was mocking that he was scared by this emotional, mentally unstable man-baby. To be fair, said emotional, mentally unstable man-baby had flung a pen into his face and then proceeded to set him on fire, so… fear justified.

Since the mutants started working with D3, Clark had made it his task to become at least acquainted with each one of them. That way, he justified, if they were to go off the rails, he would be lower on their kill list. He didn’t have a particular order in which he preferred them, and he supposed it wasn’t their faults, but there were some mutants he preferred simply because their mutation was less intimidating.

The Loudermilks were up there. Cary was a little flat at times, a little to absorbed into his work. But he was kind when he needed to be, and was basically a regular person apart from when Kerry went… into him. Clark didn’t talk to Kerry much. That wasn’t a problem really; Kerry didn’t talk to anyone much save for Carey.  
Ptonomy was a fine enough person. He didn’t mind sitting down and just having a chat and a coffee. At first, Clark was flattered that Ptonomy had remembered his order, and had been less so once it’d been explained that it was kind of Ptonomy’s ‘thing’ to remember. It wasn’t as invasive as David’s mutation was, but Clark still didn’t appreciate the breach of privacy.

Sydney Barrett was sweet. She was understanding, grounded. She was easy to talk to. They often talked, simply because they had things they needed to get off their chests. Simply because they were both decent, understanding people. Clark appreciated Sydney’s soft voice, her low volume. She wasn’t timid by any stretch of the imagination, but she wasn’t cocky about her aggravation. She understood the value in being quiet.

“Does he ever get…“ Clark paused to shift in his seat. “Less intimidating?” They’d been talking about Melanie, about Oliver. How Melanie had told Sydney she used to be scared of him, just a little.

“Sometimes it feels like it.” Sydney replied, her words deliberate, slow. “And then he does something, and it reminds me of how powerful he is.” That doesn’t do anything to quell Clark’s nerves. She looks at him, over the rim of her mug and sets it down.

“He’s…” She takes a short breath. “He’s a loose cannon. I know he’s not- not sick – that he never was – but it still feels sometimes like he’s not thinking about his decisions, or that he doesn’t know what he wants.” She gnaws on her lip for a moment, her hands shifting where they’re curled around her mug.

Every time he and David interact, there’s an energy there, solely created by David. Something buzzing and nervous. Of course, the first time they met, Clark exuded fear, the second time it was hate. But after countless times passing by each other, countless times they’d met eyes over a room, or during a group conversation, Clark is familiar with the energy. Some sort of one-sided gravitation, something that pulls David in Clark’s direction. Something he doesn’t appreciate.

At first, he’d thought it was just David being unsure of how to apologise for the whole… third degree burns thing. But that wasn’t it. He’d apologised, and still continued to … gravitate. And because of this gravitation, David of course wants to talk to him at every opportunity. Sometimes Clark wonders if David talks to Sydney this much. If all three of them continuously relay information to each other.

This time, David invited him into a private interrogation room. The light overhead is blue, contrasting the grey-red walls, washing out the colour. It’s terribly sanitized, horribly so. There’s no comfort in the room, and it’s unnerving. Clark brushes a hand through his hair, places his cane on the table as he sits. He wonders what’s going on, vaguely wonders if he’s going to die. That’s not uncommon, really. He wonders that every time he talks to David alone.

“I just wanted somewhere to talk.” David cuts in. “Somewhere private.”

“And so you chose a fully monitored interrogation room?” Clark watches as David’s eyebrow twitches up a moment, in sync with the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve… shut off all off the surveillance.” He counters, almost too quickly. There’s something in his eyes; something Clark struggles to figure out. Something he maybe doesn’t want to.

“Okay,” Clark continues the conversation, a little afraid that if he pauses, David will read his mind. He’s not thinking anything particularly bad, but he’s worried something will be wormed out, something will be taken the wrong way.

The only thing Clark can focus on during the conversation – which is nothing of importance, mind you, just information he already knows – is David’s intent gaze. Something bubbles underneath that has Clark’s heart beating faster, and not in a good way. Clark would almost call it hungry. That particular thought makes his heart pick up a little.

David’s… He’s not ugly. In fact, from a distance, he was someone Clark almost considered attractive. Dateable, if you will. No, he’s cute in the way you might find a rodent cute, or gorgeous in a way you might think a lion killing a gazelle would be. Clark would never consider his feelings towards David to ever be romantic or sexual, however.

It’s also worth note to Clark that Sydney and David never _actually_ did anything. Over one of their extensive chats Sydney had confessed that there had been on experience in what she called ‘David’s white room’ – Clark didn’t appreciate that – but after that, she’d told David that she did love him, she just wasn’t interested in anything remotely sexual. At all. It didn’t surprise Clark in the least; how even though she could be touched, even though her mutation didn’t stand in that astral plane David had created, she didn’t care to be touched. It wasn’t just the mutation keeping her from being touched, after all.

Now, all of this information was useful, but wouldn’t particularly tip Clark off to anything unless David was exactly how he was now: the intent look, the tone, his movements. He wasn’t sure he’d call it crush; it was something different, it seemed it always was with David. It was something that he probably didn’t know how to conclude. Clark briefly reminded himself of a boy in the army and felt his shoulders loosen.

“I think we should find somewhere a bit more comfortable to discuss this.” Clark shifted his left leg, feeling the joints crack.

“The-“

“I’m aware it’s public.” He pulled his cane from the table, pushing onto his feet. “I was thinking we grab a drink in my room.”

 

Needless to say, David’s advances were far from romantic. But they weren’t lustful either, which Clark was thankful for. Instead, they were soft touches, fingers brushing, softer words, and the illusion of soft touches on the edge of Clark’s thoughts, not yet probing. It was almost comforting, and with the help of a steady stream of whiskey, it became just that.

He wasn’t tipsy, just loosened enough to become more comfortable with the small touches, to allow David’s hand to sit for long minutes on his leg, in the cusp of his hand. Comfortable enough to allow flat, calloused fingers to rub softly on the pattern of his burns.

It’s an unnatural experience, burning alive. At one point, Clark’s eyelid had been almost non-existent. they’d grafted skin from his cheek just so he could close his eye. He had trouble speaking for six whole months. Everyone he loved avoided his gaze. His joints work fine, but because his skin had been literally _melted_ he had to undergo several surgeries to reconstruct the skin so he could straighten his leg. So he could somewhat walk. He constantly tosses up which was worse; the loss of his vision, the opportunity to ever grow facial hair that looks good, or the emotional fallout that resulted after literally half his dick was melted off.

And he’s holding the hand of the man who did it to him. What is he doing?

It gets late, and David sits up from his reclined position in an armchair, wishes Clark goodnight, and he leaves. Clark sits by himself, nursing the rest of his whiskey. At some point it hits past midnight, and suddenly he’s exhausted. So he gets up, showers and sleeps. He doesn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> [ come find me on tumblr i post. there. ](http://www.hotdoghotmaildotcom.tumblr.com)


End file.
